Dead Brother
by sweetadeline
Summary: John Douglas’ brother was the hit man monitoring Joe Reisert before meeting his brutal end on the hood of an SUV. Douglas wants revenge, and hires the one assassin familiar with Lisa to help fulfill his plans.
1. Chapter 1

Dead Brother- sweetadeline

I know. It's a fantastic title.

A/N- So, yeah, the whole Jackson-gets-revenge-and-usually-because-he-said-he-would-steal-Lisa idea has been beaten. To death. But I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. And who doesn't enjoy a good old fashioned JL-centric fic? So please read. Hopefully you will enjoy it! Let me know if I should continue or give it a rest.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Red Eye.

-

Prologue

The dusty, organic scent of fresh dirt saturated the air, enveloping John Douglas with the reality of his brother Lyle's murder. He stared unblinkingly at the grave, struggling to accept that this mound of earth was not the resting place of a stranger, but of his own blood ripped brutally from existence.

Certainly, the threat of death was imminent in their line of work. Death _was _their work, and no amount of expertise or training could immortalize even the most skilled assassin. Lyle had understood this, and so did John. It was not, therefore, the death itself that caused such unrest in John, but the means of the murder.

At the hands of a fucking girl.

A fucking defenseless girl who was meant to play only a minor role in a routine assassination.

John acutely felt the shame his brother would undoubtedly experience at meeting his end in such a disgraceful manner. Hell, his own name was drenched in disgrace by association. The entire organization buzzed with the news of Lyle's unexpected death, and his ineptitude had received full blame for the incident.

As if Lyle had rammed himself with the SUV.

However, a fascination lingered in the establishment concerning the girl who had been the source of not only his brother's death, but Jackson Rippner's shocking fall from glory. Once a respected and widely feared figure in the organization, Rippner's humiliating defeat had eroded his legendary status. While he retained his position as manager and still commanded a formidable level of deference from his peers, he lost his aura of invincibility, and had since been assigned to less high-profile jobs.

No one, though, thought of the girl more than John. She had proven their most flawless assassins fallible and been the instrument of his beloved brother's demise. Unconsciously, John's fists clenched in rage at the mere thought of her, free and happy, while his brother lay dead beneath six feet of earth and their revered establishment scrambled to mend the tatters of their once sterling reputation.

Which was the reason that an ugly plan took shape in John's head, given life by his fierce rage. His hands itched to soak in the girl's blood as she paid retribution for her crime. To John's immense frustration, the organization seemed uninterested in wasting the resources necessary for her elimination.

John clearly needed to take matters into his own capable hands. And while he desperately ached to travel to the girl's home and end her immediately, the situation was a bit more complex than that. He was inexperienced when it came to the physical aspects of the organization's plans; instead, he assisted merely in the design of the complicated schemes.

What John required was a trained assassin. Preferably one possessing experience in the area of Lisa Reisert.

He needed Jackson Rippner.

-

Physically, Jackson Rippner could not be described as imposing. He possessed neither a formidable figure nor a particular feature that excited fear. Yet, as he entered the dimly lit bar and cut through the smoky air, each stride oozing cool confidence, he seemed to exude intimidation. His sharp, ice blue gaze swept the bar, flicking over its patrons with a swift but calculating eye with unaffected intensity.

An assassin must always be aware of his surroundings. The profession of violence did not exactly inspire cherished friendships with those connected to his victims, so it became a necessary means of survival to be constantly alert and on his guard.

After assessing his surroundings and noticing only a few lonely drinkers and some groups shooting pool, Jackson slid onto a bar stool and smiled when an attractive female bartender moved his way.

"Can I get you a drink?" she inquired, a thick New York City accent tainting her words. Internally, Jackson winced. City accents annoyed him, but for this blonde beauty and her undeniable rack, he was willing to overlook it.

"Yes you can, uh… what did you say your name was?" Jackson inquired, his lips quirked into a flirtatious smile.

"It's Carla," she informed him, smiling playfully as his gaze swept up and down her form.

"Well, Carla…" he began, but was interrupted by the sudden buzzing of his cell phone.

He extracted it from his pocket and glanced at the ID.

"Shit," he muttered, before allowing his mask of geniality to slip back over his features.

"I'm sorry, I have to take this," he explained apologetically, gesturing to his vibrating phone.

Carla rolled her eyes and moved to help another man waiting at the bar. Jackson watched her leave with palpable annoyance before striding quickly to the back of the bar, garnering only fleeting, disinterested glances. Certain that his conversation would not be overheard in the uninhabited area, he flipped open the silver cell.

"Rippner," a deep male voice greeted coolly.

"I'm working," Jackson snapped in a low, dangerous tone, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "Never. Call me when I'm working."

"This isn't organization business. It's personal," the man replied. "My name is John Douglas. I believe you were acquainted with my brother Lyle."

Jackson immediately tensed, his eyes narrowing as the name triggered a rush of unwanted memories and images to flash through his mind before he quickly suppressed them.

"What do you want?" Jackson hissed in a harsh tone, his temper flaring. "I'm not accustomed to entertaining unwanted interruptions."

"This is far more important than your low end New York gig," John continued, not phased by Jackson's mounting ire. "Or any of your other shit jobs you've performed since your catastrophic handling of the Keefe assassination attempt."

"I feel I should warn you- I don't respond well to flattery," Jackson bit back, struggling against the urge to crush the tiny phone in his grip.

"My brother is dead," John simply stated. "I need your help."

Jackson let out a short, harsh laugh.

"I need your skill and particular experience," Douglas continued, before pausing briefly. "I need Lisa Reisert."

All traces of amusement spontaneously melted from Jackson's visage, and his eyes hardened.

"No."

He flipped the cell phone shut, effectively ending the connection with Douglas, before drawing a deep, steadying breath. The small phone began to vibrate in Jackson's clenched fist, and he peered at the ID before rolling his eyes and answering the call against his better judgment.

"One million," Douglas stated.

"What?" Jackson asked in annoyance, preparing to threaten this man with the most violent death his creative brain could muster.

"Dollars," was the clarification. "And bloody vengeance. Your payment for delivering the girl according to instruction."

Jackson Rippner fell silent, slowly stroking two fingers over the circular scar marring his throat absentmindedly as he considered the proposal. Shit. One million dollars. Shit. Bloody vengeance.

Shit.

"Well?" Douglas asked impatiently, and when he received no response, said, "This offer is a one time thing. You turn it down now, you turn it down. I won't ask again."

"I'll do it," Jackson cut him off, the words escaping his lips before he'd truly considered them.

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Red Eye.

-

Chapter 1

She was happy. Content, even.

The thought enraged Jackson.

As he watched Lisa from his vantage point at the restaurant bar, laughing and chatting animatedly with the lump that appeared to be her date, the injustice of it all burned him. Never mind that he killed people as a profession. What this girl had done was far worse.

She had stripped him of his hard-earned dignity. Physically mutilated him. Almost succeeded in killing him. And yet, his all-encompassing anger diminished slightly in the face of an unsettling reality. Seeing Lisa had an unpleasant effect on his most potent weapon: his confidence.

Always, Jackson wielded an unwavering certainty in himself and his abilities; conviction faithfully carryied him through even the most trying assignments. It had earned him promotions, fame, and respect. Without his customary complete self-assurance, he felt thrown into unfamiliar territory.

However, unfortunately for Lisa, Jackson's formidable temper flared at this newfound uncertainty. He had been careless enough to allow her to gain power over him, and hated her more because of it.

_Get it together, you pussy, _he told himself angrily, taking a slow drag from his cigarette in an effort to calm himself down. She would never exert her power, he decided, unless he was foolish enough to reveal it to her.

Glancing back at Lisa, he watched her excuse herself from the table and head for the restrooms. He quickly extinguished his cigarette in the glass ashtray in front of him and rose from his stool.

-

Lisa weaved between the tables of the small Italian restaurant as she made her way to the bathroom. The light hum of conversation and the delicate tinkling of dishes provided the soundtrack for the pleasant atmosphere, and Lisa realized with some surprise that she was actually enjoying herself tonight.

Upon arriving at her destination, she noted that the restroom was for one person. She knocked politely on the door and, after receiving no answer, turned the small golden knob and entered.

The smell of perfumed liquid soap permeated the air, and Lisa placed her purse on the sink and glanced at her reflection. A small smile graced her lips as she noticed the change in her appearance which had gradually evolved over the past few months. She no longer appeared tired or burdened by stress, but looked fresh and well-rested. To her immense surprise, the time following the red eye flight had led not to paranoia or unrest, but to her recuperation. In overcoming Jackson, she had somehow begun the healing process of older, deeper wounds inflicted by her rape. While she still practiced more caution than was completely necessary and held a grave and permanent fear of her attackers, Lisa knew that her proximity to happiness would increase over time and she would make the desired return to normalcy.

Tonight was intended as a step in that direction. Her first date in…a long time. She hesitated to recall exactly how long- it was too pathetic to consider. Ted was a fantastic guy; he was sweet, charming, and had soulful chocolate eyes and a killer smile. But above all, he was _normal. _No hidden agenda or concealed weapons. Completely, one hundred percent normal. Lisa owed tonight to Cynthia, who had insisted on setting the two of them up. Lisa resisted at first, naturally wishing to be cautious when spending time with strange men, but relented upon Cynthia's assurance of Ted's all-encompassing wonderfulness.

And so here she was, having a great time, and slapping her ugly past in the face.

As she washed her hands, Lisa attempted to clear her mind of such thoughts. Reminders and ruminations over her frightening history often led to unwanted melancholy, and tonight was intended as a refreshing break from the daily grind. The rape/ red eye incidents had already eaten enough of her life, and she desired to spend the rest of her days living instead of merely existing in sadness and fear.

Straightening her curled auburn hair one final time in the mirror, Lisa turned and grasped the doorknob. As soon as her fingers brushed the metal, the knob twisted and the door flew open. Lisa jumped backwards to avoid being hit and she glared up in anger at the rude intrusion.

The biting words died in her throat.

Her lungs constricted, holding her breath captive; her heart lurched to a sudden halt before accelerating into a gallop.

"Miss me?" Jackson asked, adopting an earnest tone.

He slammed the door shut behind him. Lisa backed against the sink, its unyielding ceramic basin digging into her lower back as she struggled to find her voice. Jackson, his cerulean eyes never straying from her, reached behind and locked the door, the small click echoing in Lisa's ears.

"What, no warm greeting?" he asked, feigning hurt. "I've come a long way to see you. Where are your manners?"

Shock paralyzed her. This could _not _be happening again.

His voice was raspier than it had been, adding a fearsome element to his already frightening persona. Other than that, no other noticeable change had leapt to Lisa's attention. Still the same well-dressed, charismatic nightmare.

"You're…dead," she croaked, finally finding her voice.

Jackson chuckled, his hollow laughter filling the small bathroom.

"On paper, yes," he conceded, smirking. "Doesn't exactly make it true."

Lisa assessed her options as he spoke, endeavoring to devise an escape through the thick haze of fear that had settled in her mind. He was blocking the only exit, but she realized with relief that she still had her purse, waiting patiently on the sink behind her.

"Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," he tsked as Lisa stealthily rooted through her bag, never removing her eyes from him. "I think you might be cheating on me with that man out there."

Her hand locked around the desired object, and she tensed in preparation to strike.

"Don't even think about it," came Jackson's icy tone, all evidence of laughter erased from his features. He gestured to the purse that Lisa had hidden behind her back.

"Give it to me," he demanded, taking a step toward her.

At that moment, Lisa whipped a small bottle of mace from her purse and sprayed at his eyes as he advanced. Jackson swiftly dodged the onslaught and grabbed Lisa's arm, shoving her against the wall and causing the container to slip from her grasp and clatter to the floor.

"Ah!" Lisa gasped as her arm was painfully bent behind her back, caught in Jackson's unrelenting grip. His other hand moved around her neck and he pressed against her with his body, effectively immobilizing the struggling captive.

"You look good," Jackson commented, smirking as Lisa continued to wriggle and buck against him. "I'd be happy for you if I didn't hate you so fucking much."

Her eyes flew defiantly to his, anger simmering in their depths. Her mouth moved as she gasped for breath, and Jackson eased the pressure on her neck to allow her to speak.

"Th-then why did you come back?" she asked hoarsely, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the burning pain around her throat.

"Is this the part," he began in mocking amusement, "where I reveal all of my dastardly plans, then you do everything in your extremely limited power to stop me?"

He clenched her throat briefly to emphasize who currently held the power, and Lisa's eyes screwed tightly shut as she stifled her cries of pain. Jackson leaned in until their cheeks almost touched.

"Not this time," he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

Lisa recoiled at the sensation of his mouth and hot breath against her skin, an angry whimper escaping her lips. Her free hand clutched at the grip around her throat, attempting to free herself from his iron hold. Jackson pulled his head away and sighed with impatience.

"Lisa," he sing-songed, feigning disapproval. "Stop fighting me. I don't want to resort to more brutal tactics."

She ignored his warning, clawing at his hand and renewing her attempt to release her arm from behind her back. Jackson growled and shoved her roughly, knocking the back of her head hard against the wall. She blinked, slightly dazed.

"I said I didn't want to," he ground through clenched teeth. "Doesn't mean I won't. I have a knife that's practically begging to separate a finger from one of your pretty little hands."

Lisa immediately stilled, comprehending fully the utter seriousness in his tone. Her heart leapt against the confines of her chest in a staccato rhythm, and she felt positive that Jackson could easily feel her racing pulse.

"Good," he commended when her struggles ceased. "Now, go out there, bid a polite and _convincing_ farewell to your boy, and quickly exit through the front door."

"And then?" she asked warily, keeping her distance from him as much as possible.

"Let me handle the details. And remember, the second, the second-" he said, shoving her as he repeated his phrase, "You drop a hint to anyone, I will not hesitate to kill him. Understand?"

At this, Jackson pulled aside his navy suit jacket to reveal a handgun tucked into a concealed shoulder holster. He took her stunned silence as affirmation and slowly relinquished his hold on her. Lisa's hands flew to her throat, rubbing the sore, red skin as she coughed. Jackson picked up the mace and pocketed it, then unlocked the door and swung it open to reveal two ladies waiting in line for the bathroom. They looked with widened eyes between Jackson and a flustered, slightly rumpled Lisa before quickly averting their curious gazes.

"Thanks for the quickie," Jackson threw over his shoulder to Lisa as he strode away, eliciting a gasp from one of the women.

-

By the time Lisa had straightened herself out and exited the bathroom, a brief scan of the crowded restaurant yielded no sign of Jackson. However, she instinctively knew that he would never take his eyes off of her, especially in such an open situation where the possibilities of escape were practically endless.

Somewhat self-consciously, Lisa returned to the table where Ted sat, patiently sipping his glass of red wine as he awaited her return.

"Hey," Lisa said, coming up from behind Ted with a forced smile plastered on her face. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, no it's okay, really," Ted assured her, standing. "Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah, but…I have to go," she said reluctantly, hoping that somehow he would pick up on her distress. "Something just came up at the hotel. Cynthia just called and asked for emergency help."

"Oh!" Ted remarked with regret. He thought for a moment before his features brightened.

"Well, I could go with you, and we could continue our evening when the issue is resolved?" he suggested earnestly.

Lisa bit her lip, desperate to tip Ted off to her dangerous situation.

_I won't hesistate to kill him…_

Jackson's words echoed in her ears and Lisa involuntarily glanced around the restaurant again him before returning her attention to Ted.

"No," she sighed heavily, fighting desperately against the tears that wanted to push their way out. "I think we better just call it a night. But, _call me. _Any time. On my cell. I _always _pick up unless something _happens_ and I can't reach my phone."

Lisa emphasized these last words, keeping a smile on her face so as to not alert Jackson if he was indeed watching.

"Alright, I will. But let me at least keep you company for the cab ride," he insisted, seemingly oblivious to her hidden meanings.

"Ted, really, I'm fine. But thank you," she added, willing the shake to leave her voice. As much as she wanted Ted to help her, she also suspected that he would not stand a chance against Jackson. _Stop gambling with his life._

"I had a really great time tonight," Ted said, rising and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, I hope we can do it again soon," Lisa responded, placing true feeling behind her words. Then, looking down at the table, an idea materialized. She deftly grabbed the dinner fork sitting near her hand and slid it into the deep pocket of her white sweater.

"Bye," she said, and then quickly headed to the door, leaving Ted to watch her hasty retreat with disappointment.

-

As soon as Lisa exited the bustling restaurant and stepped into the cool evening air, an arm threw itself across her shoulders as an object simultaneously pressed almost painfully into her side.

"I think you broke the poor boy's heart," Jackson commented, walking briskly and pulling Lisa along with him, who had quickly identified the object jabbing into her as the handgun.

She attempted to put space between her and the weapon, but Jackson's strong hold kept her plastered to his side as they strode through the parking lot. An elderly couple walked by, and Lisa cast a pleading look in their direction, but they only smiled at the happy, embracing young couple.

"Lisa," he mock scolded. "I would kill them. You know that."

Lisa remained silent as Jackson steered them toward a black SUV with tinted windows. Removing a keychain from his pocket, he clicked a button to unlock the doors and threw open the passenger side door.

"Get in," he ordered, still keeping Lisa at gunpoint. She scanned the parking lot desperately for someone to call out to before Jackson sighed impatiently.

"Get in, or I'll throw you in," he hissed against her hair, squeezing her upper arm painfully with his free hand.

Feeling the reassuring weight of the dinner fork in her pocket, Lisa decided to comply with his wishes and bide her time until a better opportunity for escape presented itself. She could not, after all, outrun a bullet.

Lisa turned to face Jackson, glaring coldly at him as a lone tear slid down her cheek. He merely looked at her with cool indifference, though she detected with consternation that he took some pleasure in her pain.

"Fuck you," she spat.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down her spine.

"What, here? I don't think your date would be very appreciative," he remarked. "So just get. In. The fucking car."

Lisa reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat and Jackson slammed the door closed behind her. As he rounded the car to the driver's side, she recognized her chance for freedom. However, as soon as her fingers grazed the car door handle, Jackson threw open the driver side door.

"Don't even think about it," he warned. The sound of the gun cocking immediately caused Lisa to freeze. Slowly, she removed her hand from the door and turned around, eying the ready weapon.

"Are you gonna shoot me, Jackson?" she asked calmly, effectively masking her panic. Determined to discourage his threats and bravado by simply not reacting to them.

He looked at her over the pointed gun, seeming surprised by her steady tone.

"Not if you don't give me a reason to," he replied, his voice matching hers. Slowly, he uncocked the gun and lowered it, keeping his wary gaze on her. Lisa inhaled a subtle sigh of relief, allowing herself to breath.

Suddenly, Jackson leapt across the driver seat and grabbed Lisa's wrists, taking advantage of her momentary lapse of attention.

"No!" she shrieked, attempting to pull her hands from his grasp and flattening herself against the door behind her.

"Will you calm down?" Jackson asked through gritted teeth as he struggled with her. "This doesn't need to be difficult."

"And you don't need to be here," she countered through her exertion.

He muttered incoherently under his breath as he finally overcame her, his words sounding something like "yes, I do". Holding her small wrists in one hand, he searched around on the floor of the car with his free hand. After a moment, he appeared triumphant and held up a coil of rope.

"I got you a little something," he told Lisa, then bound her hands tightly together with his gift.

"You shouldn't have," she ground out, still fighting to free herself as he completed tying them.

After finishing, Jackson reached over to shut his door, then shoved a key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and Lisa felt fear cloud her senses, remedied only by a single piece of invaluable knowledge: she had beaten Jackson once before. He was not invincible, nor did he understand her as intimately as he pretended to. Knowing a person's drink preference and social habits meant nothing.

Given time, she could best him again.

-

A/N- Wow, long chapter. So, yes, I grabbed a line from _Cruel Intentions_. I'm totally original. And okay, reviews are fantastic. I seriously love them. My head has expanded to twice its normal size. Everyone says such wonderful things! Thanks to everyone who is reading this, and double thanks to reviewers. You are outstanding inspiration!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Red Eye.

-

"Where are you taking me?"

Lisa's question shattered the heavy silence that had settled in the car since leaving the restaurant parking lot ten minutes before.

"Do we really need to cover this again?" Jackson asked in annoyance, his eyes not straying from the road. "As I said before, it's going to be a fun little surprise."

"I can't help you get to Keefe," she almost pleaded, her voice breaking slightly. "He's not at the hotel…"

"Well, this doesn't involve him" Jackson interrupted with a smirk, relishing her desperate tone. "This time, it's all about you."

His words were chillingly reminiscent of the red eye flight when she'd first had the pleasure of realizing Jackson's true nature. However, Lisa resisted her melancholy and forced a snarky attitude.

"The whole vendetta thing is kind of pathetic, don't you think, Jackson?" she asked cuttingly, attempting to upset him as much as he had her.

"Don't flatter yourself," he replied cruelly. "This is purely business."

"Still," she continued, secretly wondering at his comment. "It must sting to revisit failure."

"You know what stings even more? A bullet through the kneecap," he commented in irritation, wondering why he let her get to him so easily. "You can take my word for it, or just keep on talking and tell me your own thoughts on the subject in about five minutes."

Despite the multitude of questions aching to be asked, Lisa fell silent, taking a small satisfaction in her tiny victory. Simultaneously, it worried her that she was familiar enough with Jackson to know exactly which buttons to press without causing him to become completely murderous. While their connection was anything but intimate, it was close enough to be creepy.

She shifted her wrists, wincing when the rough grain of her bounds cut more deeply into the sensitive skin. Already, this experience with Jackson was far removed from their previous encounter aboard the red eye; he appeared far more reserved and serious, heightening his intimidating image. Besides that, his current intentions were completely mysterious, and she feared the unknown above all.

Only one hope kept Lisa from completely breaking down, and that was the dinner fork that remained concealed in her pocket. She was almost surprised that he had failed to detect the utensil; he seemed somewhat distracted and, though she would never have expected it of his unflappable nature, uneasy.

After twenty minutes of tense silence between them, Jackson abruptly pulled off the road and into a motel parking lot. Lisa's eyes widened in alarm as he pulled into a parking space and killed the engine.

Before she could open her mouth to question, Jackson opened his door and seized Lisa's bound hands. He pulled her roughly out of the driver side.

"I'm not taking my eyes off of you," he explained, slamming the door shut behind them and leading her forcefully to a motel room door.

His hand seemed close to crushing the bone in her arm, and his determined strides caused his open jacket to flap around him in a menacing style as he manhandled her like a ragdoll. Lisa felt like the struggling prey in the grip of a fierce predator and despised the feeling of complete vulnerability and helplessness she'd sworn never to experience again.

Panicked, she made a break for it as Jackson rooted in his pocket for the room key. She pulled from his grasp, which had loosened in his distraction, and dashed across the parking lot. His curse of anger rung in her ears as he quickly gave chase, the light pound of his footsteps quickly closing in.

His arm suddenly wrapped around her waist from behind, effectively halting her. She cried out before he slapped his other hand across her mouth and dragged her backwards to the room.

"Don't make this hard," he breathed into her ear, glancing around to ensure that they weren't being watched. Lisa whimpered, then bit his hand that covered her lips.

"Shit!" he yelled, whipping his hand away and shaking it to relieve the pain. However, to Lisa's utter disappointment, his distraction did not cause him to relinquish his powerful hold on her waist. Instead, it had only incurred his fearsome wrath, and his fingers dug painfully into her as he coerced her more violently towards the building.

Upon reaching the door once more, Jackson thrust the key into the lock, threw open the door, and entered, still not allowing Lisa free. He kicked the door shut before throwing Lisa roughly onto the queen sized bed that dominated the small, dingy room.

"Make yourself comfortable, Leese," he told her, throwing his keys on the desk by the door and removing his suit jacket.

Lisa turned quickly to face her assailant, her eyes darting quickly around the confined space for any possible escape or weapon.

"On second thought," he continued, noticing her obvious assessment of her surroundings, "let me help you with that."

He abruptly pounced, landing lightly over her form, capturing her small arms and pinning them above her head.

Lisa cried out and fought against him, her legs kicking hard. Jackson gritted his teeth and maneuvered his body to settle between her thrashing legs, rendering them useless.

"No!" she yelled in frustration, bucking wildly beneath him. "Get off!"

"Lisa," he scolded. "You're causing a scene."

However, his cruel taunting masked more startling thoughts. Here he was, trapping his most hated enemy in an utterly vulnerable position. He felt the expected intense detestation. He felt the familiar powerful urge to wring her neck. And he felt unexpectedly aroused.

Lisa, unaware of Jackson's heated reaction, gave into the exhaustion from her multiple escape attempts and took a brief rest from her futile struggle. She lay beneath Jackson, panting hard and glaring up at him with pure, unadulterated loathing.

He paused, digesting her appearance. As he lay between her thighs and she panted, cheeks flushed, hair splayed messily around her head, and white sundress bunched around her hips, she looked as if she'd just been thoroughly fucked. By him. And suddenly, the idea was undeniably appealing to Jackson. He was, after all, sadistic, and naturally identified violence and sex as overlapping entities.

Without warning, Jackson brutally headbutted Lisa, rendering her unconscious. Her tense body went slack, and he climbed off of her and straightened his clothes, forcing himself to calm down. _What the fuck is wrong with me? _he wondered, more than a little alarmed by his new and wholly unnatural thoughts regarding his captive. He could not afford further complication in this particular mission. A million dollars was too hefty a sum to be trifled with, and certainly was not worth contemplating a round with Lisa Reisert.

-

Lisa awoke slowly, her eyelids like heavy weights pulled across her vision. A low hum sounded in her ears, and she could feel her head throbbing with intense pain. Slowly, she opened her eyes, rubbing them and blinking sluggishly as she struggled to get her bearings. Suddenly, Lisa remembered. Ted, the bathroom, _Jackson…_

Her heart lurching with horror, Lisa struggled to sit up, but the pain in her head strongly discouraged such an action. Sighing in quiet frustration, she relaxed back onto the pillow and attempted to assess her environment from where she lay. A cursory glance revealed that she remained in the motel room, and the bedcovers had been pulled over her. A sudden movement on the bed next to Lisa caused her to immediately tense, and she slowly turned her head.

Her eyes now effectively accustomed to the dark, Lisa realized with some surprise that Jackson lay in quiet slumber beside her. With relief, she noted that he remained fully clothed and slept on top of the covers- a gesture she felt certain was not meant as a kindness to her, but a convenience to himself. She then shifted her focus to the handgun, which remained nestled in Jackson's shoulder holster, and an idea quickly developed. If she could get the gun, her chances of escape would increase tenfold.

Biting her lip in concentration, Lisa slowly sat up to lean on her elbow. Her aching head protested, but she steadfastly ignored it, thinking only of the risky matter at hand. Taking a moment to clear her senses of the pain, she reached a tentative hand across Jackson's rising and falling chest, her eyes flicking fearfully up to his closed ones every second, getting closer and closer until her fingers brushed the cool metal handle. Allowing a triumphant smile to curl her lips, Lisa gave the metal an almost undetectable tug.

Immediately, a hand grabbed her wrist. Lisa gasped and looked up into Jackson's icy gaze. His painful grasp forced her to relinquish the weapon handle, and he snaked his other arm around her waist, tugging her body on top of his. In her weakened state, he found Lisa delightfully pliable.

She braced her hands against his chest, attempting to push herself off of him, but his grip was unrelenting.

"Leese, can you try to keep your hands off my things?" he asked, smiling cruelly at her distress.

"Help! Help me!" she shrieked loudly, hoping that another guest would be alerted to her situation.

"No one's here to save you," Jackson informed her, his low, dangerous tone increasing her fear. "I made absolute sure of that. So just stop screaming, or you'll make me angry."

He had not, in fact, made sure of any such thing, but Lisa seemed to buy it and stopped calling for help. If a guest _did _respond to her former pleas, he could simply make it clear that they were just a young, very kinky couple.

Lisa reached a hand up and slapped Jackson across his face, the stinging blow making his skin sing. Growling low in his throat, he rolled them over in a flash, pinning her flailing fists to her sides and ignoring her cries of protest.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that you just like having me on you," he stated, bracing his hands on either side of her head.

"You're beginning to think? What a development," she spat sarcastically, surprised by her forwardness in such a vulnerable position.

As she spoke, Lisa slowly moved her hand to her pocket and closed her fingers around the fork, steeling herself to attack. Then, in one fluid motion, she pulled the utensil out and stabbed the long, sharp silver tines into Jackson's inner thigh, impaling him forcefully through the thin material of his slacks.

The attack elicited a strangled cry of surprise and pain, and Lisa quickly shoved his crumpled form off of her and dashed to the door, grabbing the small silver cell phone that Jackson had left lying on the desk. She turned the knob frantically and yanked hard, but the locks prevented the door from opening.

Now shaking nearly uncontrollably, she threw back the chain lock but as she turned her attention to the lock on the door handle, Lisa found herself roughly slammed against the wooden door.

"You have so much pain coming your way," Jackson rasped from behind her.

Lisa felt a cool blade press lightly against her neck and she immediately stiffened. A knife. God, she hated knives. And she hated that he knew it.

His fingers wrapped around her upper arm and guided her back to the bed. The glinting weapon coaxed her to lie down, and she reluctantly complied, eying it from the corner of her eye.

Still poising the knife at her neck and not removing his steely eyes from the unpredictable captive, Jackson reached one hand down and deftly unbuckled and removed his black leather belt.

"Hands above your head," he ordered calmly, looking down at her intensely.

"I was wondering how you manage to get any girls in bed," she stalled, not complying with his chilling request.

"It's nice to know you have such an interest in my sex life, Leese, but if you don't put your hands above your head, I will cut you," Jackson replied evenly, increasing the pressure behind the blade.

Lisa inhaled sharply and lifted her chin to escape the blade, but it remained. Slowly, she moved her arms from her sides and slid them above her head, watching him warily. He grabbed her wrists tightly in the hand holding the belt, then swung a leg over her body to straddle her. Tucking the knife into the back of his pants, Jackson took the belt and lashed her hands to the headboard, pulling tightly and eliciting a small gasp from her prone form.

"Bondage works for you," he remarked, patting her fisted hands before climbing off of her.

She watched as he walked across the small room, limping slightly and running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, Lisa," he muttered distractedly with his back turned, talking more to himself than to her. "You are a fucking piece of work."

She didn't answer as he rummaged through a black bag sitting on the desk by the window. He must have brought it from the car when she'd been unconscious, she reasoned. After a few moments, Jackson turned back to her, holding a first aid kit. He limped back to the bed and threw the box near her feet, sparing a glance at her angry visage.

Then, to her surprise, Jackson unbuttoned his black slacks and kicked off his shoes. The small sound of a zipper followed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lisa asked fearfully, her voice wavering. She began to tug at her belted hands as she watched his impromptu strip with widened eyes.

"Well, Leese, since you've stabbed me again, I'm attempting to patch myself up," he responded, not looked up at her as he dropped his pants and pulled them off, taking a moment to grimace at the blood-soaked fabric. "Please accept my fervent apology for doing this in your precious presence, but since you would most likely try to kill me if I left the room, I think you will understand my reluctance to do so."

As his bare legs were exposed, Lisa was taken aback by the amount of blood that had dripped down his leg, the crimson stark against his pale skin. She watched as he sat on the edge of the desk chair and pulled back the leg of his boxers to reveal the wound. Four small puncture wounds marred his thigh, neatly aligned and still oozing blood.

Jackson leaned forward and extracted a few supplies from the first aid kit, then began to expertly clean the injury without any indication of the pain she knew he must be feeling. After bandaging his leg with gauze, he arose from the chair and returned to the black bag, throwing the kit back inside and removing a fresh pair of black pants.

"Congratulations," he suddenly stated as he donned the pants, startling her. "You've managed to draw blood."

His blue gaze flicked to hers.

"It's a skill I can relate to," he told her, bending down and picking something up from the floor. "And I feel obliged to return the favor."

Her gut twisted, and she realized that the object he held was the fork, still shining with his blood. He wiped the utensil clean on the bedspread, leaving an ugly red streak across the mustard yellow fabric.

Suddenly, he whipped his hand back and threw the fork. It spun through the air, and Lisa clenched her eyes tightly closed as it flew directly at her. With a loud thunk, however, it imbedded itself instead in the headboard, not an inch from her head.

She slowly reopened her eyes, looked up at the quivering fork, then met his amused gaze with hatred.

"If you're going to kill me," she began in a low, unsteady tone, "then just do it. Stop playing games."

"You. Are the only one playing games," Jackson said, his amusement evaporating as he moved towards her. "I've already told you, everything would be perfect if you just. Stopped. Fighting."

By this time, he had reached the bed and placed a hand over her bound ones, gazing intently at her.

"Never," she spat. "And get your fucking hands off me."

His eyes hardened and he withdrew his touch.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear you say that," he clipped, reaching up and yanking the fork from the headboard.

He thrust it in front of her face, and Lisa eyed the points fearfully. Suddenly, Jackson grabbed her left knee and pushed it, forcing her legs to spread. Lisa cried out in surprise and protest, immediately kicking and resisting.

However, he would not be dissuaded, and climbed onto the bed angrily.

"Get away from me!" she yelled, lashing out with her right knee. Jackson avoided the attack easily and maneuvered himself so that he straddled her right leg, rendering it useless. Then, he again grasped her left knee, forced it open, and shoved her dress up to reveal her upper thigh.

Lisa felt tears well in her eyes as she continued her futile resistance. Oh god, Jackson wouldn't…

"Jackson, don't," she pleaded suddenly through her tears, pulling fearfully on her wrists.

He glanced down at her panic-stricken face angrily before poising the fork at her exposed leg.

"Oh, Leese, you should be so lucky," he snarled, pressing the fork tines against the sensitive flesh of her thigh. "No, I only intend to show what happens when you resist. You get what you give."

"A little unimaginative, don't you think?" she asked, feeling a twisted sense of relief that he at least had no current intention of raping her. "I already had that idea."

He blinked, obviously slightly disconcerted by this unexpected show of bravery. However, even more unsettling was the small prick of admiration he suddenly felt. He clearly needed to change tactics.

"You know, you're right, Leese," he remarked, his tone shifting from one of frustrated rage to a lower, raspier pitch.

He relieved some of the threatening pressure behind the fork and skimmed it slowly down the skin of her thigh. Goosebumps erupted in its wake, and the fear immediately returned to Lisa's hazel eyes.

_Perfect_, he thought, his lips curling up in satisfaction. As low as it might be, this was the only method he could devise of controlling his captive; playing upon her one utterly dependable fear.

"Maybe I should go with your first idea. You know, leave more of an impression," he continued, dropping the fork on the bedspread and replacing it on her leg with his hand.

Slowly, he ran his calloused palm up the length of her thigh, easily feeling the tense muscles beneath the soft skin. Lisa, determined to deny him the pleasure of hearing her distress, clenched her teeth and forced back tears as she returned his intent gaze. Fury illuminated her cheeks; he could practically feel her humming with violent emotion.

Just as he reached the top of her leg, bordering on far more dangerous territory, Jackson removed his hand.

"If you ever pull another stunt like tonight, we will pick up right where we left off just now," he rasped harshly, injecting menace into each syllable. "Understand?"

Lisa merely looked at him, so overcome by disgust and rage that she could not form words as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"Good," he said, pulling her dress back down.

He reached a hand into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. To her horror, he extracted a syringe.

She struggled against the belt, kicking and protesting as he uncapped the needle and lowered it to her arm.

"Night, Leese," he murmured, and she focused on his unfeeling stare as the room tilted, blurred, disappeared.

-

A/N- Haha, yes, gratuitous physical interaction with strong sexual undercurrents. Don't pretend like you don't love it.

So thanks to you because if you are reading this, then you probably read the whole chapter and that means I love you. Not to be creepy or anything. But I do.

To Blushing Sigh- thanks for the honesty about the title. Actually, part of the reason I chose it is because it is so incredibly lame that it cracked me up. Thanks for giving the story a chance!

Roja-Syd- Ah! I love specific reviews! Thank you! And wow thanks for pointing out my really great mistake- I thought that sentence didn't look right. It is fixed now, so thanks much.

Mini Nicka, Mirth, Feline of Ave. B, Choco Goddess, RingoGirl, cypris88and SleepingNadine- Thank you so much for the kind words- you make me so happy but nervous because I hope new chapters will not let you down! Ah!

And the _Cruel Intentions _line is I guess more obscure than I thought, but it is from when Sabastian tells himself "get it together, you pussy" which is a strange line to quote, but whatever. I quoted it.

-


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Red Eye

-

A/N- So. Um. Yeah. All I can say is, I'm very sorry for the delay. But here it is, and I hope there are still some out there interested in reading- enjoy!

-

"That was not our agreement."

The distant voice pierced Lisa's consciousness, reverberating through her mind as she groggily awoke from her drug-induced slumber. She immediately registered that the voice belonged to Jackson and she struggled to respond to his cryptic admonishment. However, her mouth felt sticky and dry and her vocal chords refused to cooperate. The world seemed painfully bright even through the protection of her closed eyelids, so Lisa allowed herself the luxury of a few brief moments of recovery before facing her captor.

"I will not make the delivery until I can be assured of immediate payment," Jackson continued crisply, and Lisa suddenly realized that Jackson was addressing a third party, evidently on the phone.

Instead of continuing her efforts at communication, Lisa remained silent and immobile.

"Not only will the delivery not be made, but I will hunt you down and gut you for putting me though such unnecessary effort," he said smoothly, the absence of emotion in his voice heightening the chilling promise of his threat.

After another moment, Lisa heard snap of Jackson's flip phone shutting. His angry sigh filled the motel room, and she could almost hear his hand running through his thick hair.

"Did your mother ever tell you," he said suddenly, "that it's not polite to eavesdrop?"

"I think" Lisa began in a scratchy tone after a moment of surprise, "she was too busy telling me not to kidnap and brutally murder people."

"Now there's a woman who needs to get her priorities straight," he remarked, moving to the bed and sitting on the edge next to where she lay.

Slowly, Lisa forced her eyes to open and she groaned as she attempted raise her head.

"Oh, yeah," Jackson said, feigning a sympathetic tone as he looked down at her, "recovery from that drug is a bitch."

Her wrists, still bound by the belt but no longer lashed to the headboard, ached where the leather dug into her skin. She turned her head to the side and focused on Jackson, who looked uncharacteristically casual in slacks and a plain white undershirt.

"You should get cleaned up before we go," he suggested in an irritatingly upbeat tone. "After all, you of all people know the importance of making a positive first impression."

"First impression?" she echoed in a slurred tone.

"Oh, yeah," he said, cupping her cheek. "There's somebody who's just dying to meet you."

The ominous words chilled Lisa, and she turned her head away from his hand. He smiled in amusement and stood.

"So," he continued, sliding his arms underneath her prone form and lifting her off the bed, "I need you to get washed up because to be honest, you look like hell."

Lisa, a feeling of immense exhaustion still permeating her body, allowed herself to be carried to the bathroom and Jackson seemed to enjoy her momentary cooperation. They entered the dingy, green-tiled bathroom and he set her feet on the ground. She swayed uncertainly as Jackson leaned her against the wall and went to work on the belt around her wrists.

Relief flooded through her as the binding leather released its brutal hold on her, but the feeling was short lived. Jackson moved her body to stand beside the shower, then grabbed her hands and lifted them above her head. He deftly rebound her wrists to the shower curtain rod and stepped away.

Lisa tugged experimentally on her hands, but the belt would not budge and the sturdy wall-mounted rod held strong against her weakened pulls. Jackson, obviously confident in her immobility, faced his back to her and turned on the water at the small sink. After a moment, he turned back to her and grasped her lolling head in his hand. He raised a washcloth to her face and commenced rubbing her skin roughly, the cold water causing her senses to return slightly.

"Are you starting to come back to me, Leese?" he asked mockingly, his harsh voice sounding too loud in the silence of the small bathroom.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" she asked quietly, looking him straight in the eye.

His blue eyes flicked to hers, the question clearly taking him off guard.

"Would you like me to?" he returned in a low, dangerous tone, clenching her face more tightly in his hand. "Because believe me, there's nothing I'd rather do than end you. Right now."

Suddenly, everything started clicking into place. Her captivity, his reluctance to act upon his threats, the phonecall…

Jackson planned to deliver her to someone else.

And he couldn't touch her if he wanted to collect payment.

A newfound feeling of power surged through her, chasing away more of her grogginess.

"So do it," she challenged, fear and anger driving her to call his bluff. "What's the matter, Jack? Not enough of a man to follow through on your own threats?"

Jackson's eyes blazed with fury, his jaw clenched as his breathing accelerated.

"You're pathetic," she spat, feelings prickles of fear at his unmasked ire despite her newfound self-confidence.

Suddenly, Jackson turned and was gone. Lisa let out a long, shaking breath, but his absence was fleeting. He returned in a flash, accompanied by his long knife.

She inhaled sharply when he pressed the blade to her throat, his other hand holding the back of her neck as he leaned in close. They both breathed in short pants, staring at each other with unwavering eyes.

"You're a delivery boy," she stated carefully, trying to keep her throat as still as possible against the unwielding blade. "You can't kill me."

He stared a moment longer before chuckling.

"Oh, you think you've got the situation figured out," he breathed. "You really think you got me. Well, Leese, you're wrong. I can kill you anytime. Anytime."

He emphasized the last word by increasing pressure behind the blade, eliciting a gasp from Lisa.

"However," he rasped, moving the knife and tracing along her jawbone. "I would rather be paid, so at the moment, I choose to keep you alive."

The blade skimmed along her collarbone and Jackson followed its progress intently with his eyes.

"But I'm beginning to realize that perhaps pain has not been a large enough part of the equation," he continued, trailing the blade lower on her chest. "After all, my paying client will accept damaged goods."

Lisa clenched her bounds hands, a tear escaping her eye as she shook with fear and suppressed sobs. She waited tensely for his attack, but after a few moments of inaction, she glanced up in confusion.

Ignoring her inquiring gaze, Jackson continued to trace the blade across her chest, the metal skimming almost imperceptibly over her skin. His rage had subsided, and he currently seemed entranced by his own actions. Lisa found this unfamiliar side of Jackson unnerving. Well, more unnerving than his other unnerving sides.

Suddenly, the knife pierced her skin, cutting a long, slender line along the left side of her chest just above her dress.

She gasped in surprise and pain, but Jackson held her still, his eyes dilating as he focused on the blood which began to seep from the wound and drip down, staining the fabric of her dress in long tendrils.

Then, the knife clattered to the floor, and Jackson dropped his head and moved his mouth over the other side of her chest, his lips brushing across her scar before changing direction and settling over the area where her shoulder met her neck.

"Jackson!" she yelped as he kissed and sucked roughly at the tender flesh. "Stop!"

She began a weak, ineffectual attempt to move away and break his concentration, but he seemed in an almost trancelike state. One hand entwined in her hair while the other held her waist in a forcible grip, his strong fingers digging into her side. He continued his brutal ministrations, now nipping and kissing at the soft skin of her jaw just beneath her ear.

She cursed the drug for sapping her of strength, a soft cry of frustration escaping her lips as she struggled against him. However, the sound seemed only to spur him on. His kisses increased in intensity and the hand on her hip moved to her lower back, pulling her body flush against his.

Finally, a burst of adrenaline coursed through Lisa's body, and she quickly raised her knee in an effort to knee him in the groin. Jackson foiled the attempt by catching the offending leg between his, but the momentary distraction was enough to break whatever state he'd been in. He quickly released his hold on Lisa and stepped back.

He turned away from her, breathing hard as he ran a hand through his hair. At length, after an apparent struggle to compose himself, he turned back, opened his eyes and looked straight into her frightened ones.

"I told you," he said between breaths. "The next time you tried something, we would pick up right where we left off."

"I hate you," she spat.

"I can live with that," he answered, straightening his shirt and swearing softly at the sight of crimson blood marring the pristine white.

Lisa, now standing firmly on her own two feet, moved as far from Jackson as her tied hands would allow. Her skin crawled where he'd touched her; a murderous Jackson she could handle, but this new, wholly unexpected side of him was not something she was prepared to face.

He glanced at his wristwatch.

"Well, look at that. I guess there won't be time for you to get cleaned up after all. We've spent all our time having fun," he smirked, moving closer to her.

She shied away from him, and he smiled in amusement.

"Oh, come on, Leese. Don't get bashful on me now," he scolded, reaching up and unbinding her hands.

Once free, she immediately pressed a hand to her still-bleeding wound, hissing at the contact and avoiding Jackson's gaze.

"Suck it up," he said cruelly, bending and picking up his knife.

He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her from the bathroom.

"Now, we need to continue our little journey. Are you going to behave, or should I have you unconscious for this leg of the trip?" he inquired as if speaking to a small child.

His abrasive tone enraged Lisa, but she decided to swallow her anger until a new escape route presented itself.

"No, I-I'll be fine," she said in a small voice, looking away from him.

"Outstanding," he coolly commended.

Unbeknownst to Lisa, Jackson's emotionless exterior masked an interior of warring emotions. Shit, what had he done? Cutting Lisa had obviously been part of the plan, but kissing her?

And enjoying it?

Fuck.

The sooner he parted ways with the infuriating girl, the better. Despite his best efforts, she seemed to be getting at him, and not in the expected manner. He wanted her. He could not deny the sickening truth any longer, yet it caused him almost physical pain to admit it. How could he want someone he had so acutely hated for so long a time? Who almost succeeded in murdering him?

The hate remained, but was now accompanied by a certain longing which refused to be repressed.

But that was the last time he would ever act upon it.

The absolute. Fucking. Last.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own pretty much nothing.

A/N- Apologies for the wait and the short chapter.

Lisa sat calmly in the passenger seat, completely void of expression. Her tied hands lay limp in her lap, her raw wrists too sore to continue attempting to break free. However, her outward serenity shielded panicked fear; her stomach was twisted into ugly knots, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She shot a sidelong glance at Jackson, too deep in thought as he drove to notice her gaze or perceive her distress.

Sighing, her eyes flicked to her reflection in the mirror. Jackson was right, she did look like hell. Her face was devoid of color, hair completely disheveled, and dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes. Yet her eyes were drawn like magnets to the ugly marks on her neck and throat, repulsive reminders of Jackson's brutal displays of…affection? Lisa was almost positive she could not consider anything Jackson did as affectionate, but then how to explain his unexpected actions? Obviously, Jackson was far more twisted than even she had predicted.

Lisa risked another glance in his direction and noticed that he was absentmindedly rubbing his thigh over the area where she had stabbed him.

"Gloating?" he asked suddenly, startling Lisa. "You know, I've got to hand it to you, Leese. Your use of concealed weapons is impressive. I'm clearly going to have to search you more thoroughly next time."

Lisa refused to rise to the bait of his suggestive comment and turned her head to look out her window.

"I'm just glad your little fork attack didn't veer any farther to the right," he remarked, wincing at the thought. "You could have done some damage."

"I would have needed a bigger target," she countered, her patience snapping.

Jackson chuckled, and Lisa was taken aback by the complete absence of malice in the sound.

"Managed to maintain that sparkling wit, I see," he commented as he watched the road. "Again, impressed. I'm curious to know how long it will take to break you."

Jackson noticed Lisa suddenly tense up in his peripheral vision and smirked, relishing her fear. She noticed his obvious pleasure at her misery and resentment flared.

"You know what, Jackson?" she began, and he glanced over at her. "You're relying upon someone else to take care of the _girl _that bested you in every way. Left you a shell of the man you once were."

His jaw clenched and his electric eyes snapped to her in a piercing glare.

"You're already broken" she spat in a hushed tone, meeting his powerful gaze bravely.

Without warning, he delivered a quick, brutal slap across her face. The car veered briefly to the right, but Jackson deftly regained control of the vehicle and continued driving, the small release of anger having quelled his fury.

Lisa raised her bound hands to her burning cheek and glared at him, then clasped her fingers together hard and prepared to strike him.

"Don't," he warned shortly, not even looking over at her.

Remembering her desire to be conscious in case an opportunity for escape should present itself, Lisa reluctantly lowered her hands and gave up the attack. Jackson smirked, but did not speak.

"I deserve to know," she remarked quietly after a stretch of silence, "where you are taking me."

Jackson pursed his lips, digesting her request.

"It makes no difference whether I know or not," she pressed, noticing his hesitation. "Escape is impossible either way."

"If it makes no difference, then why do you want to know?" he queried.

"Because I _need _to know," Lisa answered in quiet desperation, her eyes trained entreatingly on his as he stared straight ahead.

"Okay, Leese," he answered after a moment of consideration. "Since you've been so cooperative recently, I'll jog your memory with a little reminder: I wasn't the only one you hurt that day."

Lisa's brow furrowed as her mind flashed back to the day she had tried so hard to erase from her memory, the day following the red eye flight. There had only been one other person, and she had killed him…

"Yup," Jackson confirmed as if hearing her thoughts. "Old Mr. Killer."

Lisa swallowed, sitting back in her seat. Jackson smiled.

"He's got a pissed-off brother."

Suddenly, Jackson turned off of the two-lane highway and drove along a small dirt road. Lisa scanned the rural surroundings in alarm, searching futilely for signs of other people until after about five minutes a small warehouse came into view directly in front of them.

He braked the car to a full stop, then pulled his cell from his belt, flipped it open, and pressed a series of buttons. Then he closed the phone with a small snap and waited. Lisa watched all this with growing apprehension and bit her bottom lip. Her frightened gaze flicked wildly around, straining to see what Jackson was waiting for.

The garage door in front of them opened, and he wordlessly drove the car into the black interior. As soon as they were through, the door closed behind them, and an involuntary whimper escaped Lisa's lips as she watched the last bit of daylight disappear from sight.

"Leese, don't start on me now," Jackson murmured as the garage lights suddenly flicked on, flooding the space with yellow light.

Lisa scanned the empty garage with a panicked gaze and jumped when Jackson reached over and grabbed her hands. He opened his door and pulled Lisa roughly out of the driver's side just as three men entered from the garage through a door leading into the building.

As they strode resolutely to where the pair stood, Lisa reflexively attempted to pull away, but Jackson kept a firm hold on her and yanked her forcefully to his side.

"Rippner," greeted one man coolly, and the two other larger men walked forward and each grasped one of Lisa's arms.

"No!" she yelped

She struggled to pull away but was clearly no match for their brute strength. They separated her from Jackson and went off to one side, practically carrying Lisa's flailing form.

The man who had spoken watched the display with amusement, eying Lisa up and down.

"So this is her, then?" he asked, chuckling when she ceased her resistance and glared furiously at him.

Jackson, standing next to the car with folded arms, had not taken his eyes from Lisa since she had been wrenched from his grasp, though his expression was blank. He nodded once at the man's inquiry.

The man walked slowly over to stand in front of Lisa, and she glowered up at him.

"Lisa Reisert, is it?" he questioned conversationally. "Can I call you Lisa?"

She spat on his face, and he immediately tensed. He wiped the saliva from his cheek and slowly turned to Jackson as if searching for an explanation. Jackson's gaze flicked to his and he merely quirked his eyebrows in response, a trace of amusement playing briefly across his features before reverting into an unreadable mask.

The man turned back to Lisa and chuckled, causing her to jump.

"My name's John Douglas," he continued with his eerily cheerful pleasantries.

Suddenly, all pretenses of civility evaporated from Douglas' visage and his features twisted into an ugly scowl.

"Because of you, my brother is dead," he whispered harshly into her face, and she recoiled as far as the two henchmen would allow.

Then, as quickly as it appeared, the scowl melted away and geniality resurfaced as Douglas turned and approached Jackson, who had watched the encounter intently. Lisa looked at him for the first time since the two lackeys had grabbed her and observed that though he appeared indifferent, to a discerning eye he was extremely tense.

Jackson's attention was on Douglas, who pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over.

"Enter that code and the money'll be wired directly to the specified account," Douglas instructed as Jackson examined the paper.

"Mr. Douglas," Lisa called out, causing both men's heads to whip around. "Please, save yourself the money and let me go. I did what I had to do to protect myself!"

Douglas' jaw ticked, but she continued her plea.

"You, especially in your line of work, should understand the importance of self-preservation!" she persuaded as Douglas reached into his breast pocket and approached her. "He was trying to kill me and my father!"

He extracted a hankerchief and balled it up. Lisa cried out one last time before the rag was stuffed brutally in her mouth, effectively hushing her cries.

"Good Lord, Rippner, how do you stand all that noise?" Douglas asked in incredulity, shaking his head as Lisa's bright green eyes welled with tears.

Her widened eyes met Jackson's flinty gaze.

"I don't," he answered simply.

"Take her in," Douglas ordered impatiently, turning from Lisa in disgust.

The men forcefully dragged Lisa to the door, and Jackson kept his eyes trained on hers as they pulled her through the door and disappeared into the building.

"Ah! At last, a moment to think!" Douglas exclaimed in relief. "Well, Rippner, as you can see, I have some important business to attend to. You're certain you won't stay for the show?"

Jackson focused his attention on the older man, suddenly unspeakably irritated with his smug grin, too-crisp suit, and irritating cheerfulness. He forced a smile to his face.

"I'm certain," he confirmed, climbing back into the car and starting the engine.

Douglas shrugged and pulled a device from his pocket, pressing a button to open the garage door. Jackson rolled down his window.

"Have fun with her," he said, eliciting a dark smile from the other man. "And Douglas?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't ever call me again."

With that, Jackson backed quickly out of the garage and peeled out down the road. Dust billowed out in his wake, leaving Douglas frowning behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

The windowless room allowed no light. Lisa felt the distress of her eyes, futilely straining to discern _anything _in the desolate space. She had no notion of how long exactly she'd been left in the room alone. Two hours? Three? Her hands were bound behind her back to the wooden chair she was seated in, yet she was not struggling. Never before had she felt so acutely alone, as if there were no people for miles around. Her senses practically ached with neglect; no sound reached her ears, her mouth tasted dry and cottony, and the room seemed to smell of nothing.

Perhaps this unnatural absence of feeling was what it felt like to lose every vestige of hope. Slumped in the chair, Lisa made the unsettling realization that through the previous trials in her life- the rape, Jackson- she had nurtured thoughts of escape and recovery. But this time, no one could help her. No conceivable possibility of freedom or salvation existed, and even her most faithful companions- fear, anger, and sadness- had abandoned her.

At that point, she was not living, but merely existing.

Her eyes ceased their struggle.

-

A lock turned somewhere in the distance, polluting the sterile atmosphere with harsh sound. The door creaked open and light rushed in, eager to remind the room's inhabitant of its existence. The quiet flick of a switch echoed smartly off the blank white walls and the overhead fluorescent lights came to life with a low buzz.

Lisa had not shown any movement since the arrival, her form completely slack in the chair in the center of the space. Douglas glanced at her from the doorway, and then turned to his associates.

"Remain here, I will call when I need assistance," he ordered, and the two men silently moved to flank the door.

Satisfied, Douglas returned his attention to his captive and entered the room, pulling the door shut tightly behind him. He set a small case on the floor near the door, and then approached Lisa.

He wordlessly circled her, hatred etched on his features as he examined his brother's murderer.

"Did you think," he began in a low voice, quivering with suppressed fury, "that you would get away with it?"

Lisa neither acknowledged his presence nor responded, causing Douglas' anger to increase.

"Did you actually have the arrogance, the _pretension_ to believe that my brother could be so easily destroyed and forgotten?" he continued with mounting ire, now looming dangerously over her prone form.

Still, Lisa showed no indication of having heard his words. Douglas grabbed her chin roughly and forced her to look at him. However, though her eyes were upon him, they were unfocused and eerily vacant.

Growling, he slapped her across the face, this stinging blow causing her head to whip to one side. Red furiously illuminated her colorless cheek, but she made no sound.

Frowning, he crouched down and peered at her expressionless face. He reached behind her and felt her wrist. Her pulse was beating in a slow, steady cadence.

"Fucking hell," he muttered. "I've bought a broken toy."

A cold smile curled his lips.

"But you're hiding in there somewhere," he remarked, standing up and walking to his bag.

He unsnapped the clasp and unfolded the cloth case to reveal several sharp, glinting blades. Waving his fingers quickly over the array of tools, he chose a small knife and examined the edge of the blade as he returned to Lisa.

"And I have methods of finding you."

Lifting her chin up, he cut a fine line along her jaw, crimson blood dripping in his wake. His eyes focused on her features, yet he detected only a miniscule reflex flinch. However, the small indication of pain was enough to spur him on.

"Lisa," he sing-songed harshly, crouching down and slicing down the side of her calf.

Watching intently for her reaction, he squeezed her leg brutally, increasing the flow of blood from the large wound. The attack, which should have elicited screams of agony, produced only the same slight wince as the first cut.

Scowling, Douglas grasped the knife firmly in his hand and prepared to sever one of her ears when suddenly the muffled sound of two successive gunshots from beyond the closed door reached his ears. His movements stilled completely, and he turned.

"Peterson!" he demanded, though telltale uncertainty laced his tone. "Edwards!"

His henchmen failed to answer his address, and Douglas tensely stood and faced the door. He gripped the knife tightly and licked his lips. A drip of sweat trailed down his cheek, but he ignored it and kept his eyes trained on the entrance.

Suddenly, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps could be heard, getting louder and louder until they abruptly stopped just outside the door.

After a moment's pause, the door was kicked open and slammed hard against the wall.

Douglas relaxed, staring at the intruder with confusion.

"What the-"

He was unable to finish his sentence. The bullet struck him in the center of his forehead, and he slumped to the ground.

"I hate when people touch my things," Jackson remarked, lowering the smoking gun as he eyed Douglas' lifeless form with distaste.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - (flashback)

_Jackson pushed open the door_ to the quiet diner and entered, his leg wound forcing a slight limp in his normally intimidating stride. He had carefully concealed his pain in front of Lisa, determined to deny her the pleasure of witnessing the full extent of her little attack.

He cast a swift, calculating eye around the diner, still tense with the remembrance of Lisa's presence and the lingering feeling that he needed to be watching her, ready for an attack or another escape attempt.

Sliding onto a stool at the counter, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his collared shirt and attempted to relax and revel in his victory.

She was gone. Forever.

His lips curled darkly into a private smile.

As his bullet wounds and neck had healed and scarred, so had hatred embedded itself and thrived inside of him. He had thirsted for revenge, obsessing over gruesome, humiliating deaths for Lisa. His hands had tingled with the desire to feel the warmth of her blood as she begged for mercy, totally broken before him.

Truthfully, he thought of her more than he cared to admit, and not necessarily in a negative light. He remembered the alluring vanilla scent of her hair and the way her full lower lip quivered attractively when she was scared, craved the warmth of her soft skin beneath his fingertips as much as that of her blood.

However, above all, he was a professional. Jackson had not pursued Lisa not because the organization had expressed _strong _discouragement, but because it had simply been too soon. He refused to become a slave to his emotions; logic and cool confidence were truly invaluable, and especially necessary in any dealings with Lisa Reisert.

When Douglas had phoned him and proposed the plan, it had still been too soon. Jackson had realized this the moment he had set eyes on her in the restaurant, when fury and hatred had risen like bile in his throat at beholding her, so infuriatingly happy, so flawlessly beautiful, so _alive_. She was still the same irrepressible, unpredictable woman who had nearly killed him, and at that instant he had inevitably reverted into the same depraved, mindlessly furious man who had thrown her down a stairwell.

But such a large payoff was too tempting to deny for such a short, relatively simple task, especially one that provided him with so much personal pleasure. And with the exception of a few amateur slip-ups, Jackson had successfully suppressed his violent rage and, though he loathed to admit it, perverted attraction.

"What can I get for you, sweetheart?" a middle-aged waitress inquired disinterestedly.

"You wouldn't happen to serve alcohol? I could really go for a seabreeze," he stated, smiling engagingly.

The woman eyed him in irritation, snapping her gum. "No."

"Okay, then, I'll have a cup of coffee. Black," he requested, still smiling as the waitress walked away.

He tapped a quick, cheery cadence on the counter with his fingertips, feeling as if an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders. And yet… in a small, dark corner of his mind, something was not right.

Jackson was wary, not willing to inspect this unexpected sensation of discontent. _What is your fucking problem. _Everything was perfect, he ended up on top and Lisa had ended up six feet in the ground. And yet…

He was unsatisfied.

As a professional, Jackson had executed his duties to a very satisfactory degree.

But he was also a killer. And he had neglected the natural, primal part of him that hungered for violence, that was now screaming its frustration at having been denied the kill it had longed for.

A cup of coffee slapped onto the counter in front of him and Jackson's crystalline eyes snapped to it coldly.

"There you go. Anything else?" the waitress inquired flatly, hands on her hips.

Maybe he should kill her. Relieve a little tension, appease his assassin with a blood sacrifice. Yet, as his gaze swept over her bleached blonde hair, hard features, and too large curves, he made the tired, grudging realization that her death would mean nothing. It would not sate him.

"No," he answered shortly, and she frowned at his sudden change in temperament as she left.

A feeling suddenly flared within him, one that he had brutally suppressed earlier. It had gathered it strength and now overpowered him, refusing to be denied.

It was the instinct that what he'd done was wrong. It had felt unnatural to hand over Lisa, a woman who had offended, mutilated, and humiliated him in every respect, to a man unworthy of the privilege to kill her. Who lacked the passion, the _right _to appreciate and to break a person of such rarity.

She was _his_, and the thought of her blood touching the hands of another man suddenly sickened him.

Jackson mechanically rose from his seat and rebuttoned his shirt grimly. Straightening his dark jacket, he threw a couple dollars onto the counter and strode to the door, no longer aware of the pain in his leg. His single-minded ambition made him strong and ruthless, as a machine mindlessly performing the purpose for which it was made.

- - - - - - - - - - -

"_I hate when people touch my things,"_ Jackson remarked, lowering the smoking gun as he eyed Douglas' lifeless form with distaste.

His attention shifted to Lisa, sitting completely slack in her chair and surrounded by an alarming amount of blood. He observed her emotionlessly for a beat before approaching and feeling for a pulse in her neck with two fingers.

A faint beat was detectable, but was rapidly weakening from blood loss. Her normally vibrant eyes were blankly unseeing. Jackson felt vastly mixed emotions at seeing Lisa like this, but of one thing he was certain: he could not have her die yet. Not like this.

He knew he had limited time to work with and stripped off his blue collared shirt, wrapping the fabric around her leg as a crude dressing.

Lisa blinked once, twice. Her eyebrows furrowed as a myriad of sensations abruptly bombarded her and she gasped for breath. Harsh light pierced her vision, and she squinted and moaned as her body registered excruciating pain.

Jackson, feeling her muscles tense with life beneath his fingers, glanced up at Lisa's face as she moaned and struggled to re-enter reality.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and she looked at him, a light of recognition sparking in her gaze.

"Jackson?" she asked in a small, cracked voice before passing out.

-


End file.
